FMIL and FSIL and I got pedicures in Portland. It was only my second ever pedicure. My feet are eternally disgusting because I spend so much time in cleats. I was truly embarrassed to stick my hoof in that woman's hand at the nail shop, to have her touch the rhinoceros hide that encases my toes and heels. Before our trip, I had been giving myself practice pedicures at home. I bought a kit and soaked my feet, scraped at my callouses with a pumice stone, stuffed my feet in lotioned socks. Nothing worked.
My foot artist told me not to worry because she sees awful feet all the time. She got out her skin shaver and scraped away until there was a pile of my skin on the floor. My feet are a whole new shape. I had forgotten that the majority of the skin on the outside of my big toes was dead callous. Today, a week later, I still keep staring down at the womanly feet I can't believe are mine.
I now have smooth, shapely toes and heels I would consider touching without gloves. It's so easy for me to convince myself that my feet needed to be ugly because the callouses were protecting me from blisters and aching feet. That's such crap! Every single human should treat him or herself to a pedicure immediately.
Imagine how happy everyone would be if the one most disgusting part of the human body could be soft and nice and not embarrassing. I can't even believe that a person such as myself, who can't abide wearing shoes or socks even in winter time, would not take more advantage of this fabulous service. Now, instead of walking around with Bilbo Baggins hobbit feet, I can prance around barefoot and not be self conscious.
Friday, June 30, 2006
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Panic Attack
I was stressed out yesterday because the internet isn't working in my apartment. So I decided to leave nice and early and get to the boat house with plenty of time to row on the ergs and practice my stroke. I was driving along, belting out some Cher on the highway, when suddenly the cars stopped. And stayed stopped. For an hour. Because the bridge was out for construction and things were crawling along in one lane.
The only way to the island is via this little bridge off route 28 and I started to panic. I was watching myself start to cry as the time for the boat launch came and went. I was completely irrational, shaking, crying, banging on the steering wheel. I had set my little heart on getting in that boat and when it seemed the opportunity was lost, I freaked out. I was like a five year old child who isn't allowed to go to the movies. I wanted to be on the river, and couldn't. I didn't know what to do so I called Corey.
He told me I was being a big baby and went online and found me a new route to the island bridge. He's always so rational. Of course when I tried to do a 3-pt turn on the highway amid the crawling traffic, a police officer came to yell at me and call me an idiot, which didn't make me feel any better.
I still can't believe how drastically I reacted to missing my boat. I've missed airplanes before and been ok. I've missed rugby practice because of horrible practice and just been sad. But I've never had an actual panic attack like that before. Corey says that life is full of disappointments and I need to just take it in stride. This is coming from a man who can assemble a tricycle without saying a single swear word or reading the directions.
Anyway, when I finally reached the boat house, dejected and expecting to help the crew with the grill, a ray of light shone down from the heavens and illuminated the awkward heads of my crew, the last into the water and about to launch. I made it! All my upset washed away in a feeling of relief. I forgot my panic and prepared to focus and row it all out.
We were two strokes off the dock and feeling fine when suddenly lightning struck. At that point, I didn't have the energy left to care anymore. I just went home and helped my neighbor move furniture. Next week, I'm going to swim to practice.
The only way to the island is via this little bridge off route 28 and I started to panic. I was watching myself start to cry as the time for the boat launch came and went. I was completely irrational, shaking, crying, banging on the steering wheel. I had set my little heart on getting in that boat and when it seemed the opportunity was lost, I freaked out. I was like a five year old child who isn't allowed to go to the movies. I wanted to be on the river, and couldn't. I didn't know what to do so I called Corey.
He told me I was being a big baby and went online and found me a new route to the island bridge. He's always so rational. Of course when I tried to do a 3-pt turn on the highway amid the crawling traffic, a police officer came to yell at me and call me an idiot, which didn't make me feel any better.
I still can't believe how drastically I reacted to missing my boat. I've missed airplanes before and been ok. I've missed rugby practice because of horrible practice and just been sad. But I've never had an actual panic attack like that before. Corey says that life is full of disappointments and I need to just take it in stride. This is coming from a man who can assemble a tricycle without saying a single swear word or reading the directions.
Anyway, when I finally reached the boat house, dejected and expecting to help the crew with the grill, a ray of light shone down from the heavens and illuminated the awkward heads of my crew, the last into the water and about to launch. I made it! All my upset washed away in a feeling of relief. I forgot my panic and prepared to focus and row it all out.
We were two strokes off the dock and feeling fine when suddenly lightning struck. At that point, I didn't have the energy left to care anymore. I just went home and helped my neighbor move furniture. Next week, I'm going to swim to practice.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Fortuitous
Yesterday was a fantastic day. I finally got to see the rugby people after almost two months in hiding. Since I haven't been practicing this summer because of rowing, I have really, really missed my friends. We all got together and went to see the Buccos lose last night and it was fantastic. I discovered who mailed me the secret photo of me and my birthday pig. I wheedled free beer from the men's team. I met another Penn Stater (and you can never know enough of those!) AND I got to eat perogies and drink beer from left field while looking out at the river as the White Sox hit homers out there.
I spent the majority of the evening convincing my teammates that they missed the boat in not signing up for crew with me. The Tuesday night teams rowed past us several times and the ruggers asked questions and conceded that Team Rugby could have rowed better than those other schmoes. I just know I can talk them into it by next summer. And Corey, too.
Then, to cap off a lovely time, my bus was pulling up right as I walked to the curb! There was my 71A, sans crazy people, to speed me along home to my cookie pie. Just when I thought the day was the most wonderful of all fabulous Pittsburgh summer days, Corey gave me a present. He bought me a whole box of fortune cookies because he knows they're my favorite! I love that he bought me the cookies even though he doesn't support consuming partially hydrogenated oils.
Summer is awesome.
I spent the majority of the evening convincing my teammates that they missed the boat in not signing up for crew with me. The Tuesday night teams rowed past us several times and the ruggers asked questions and conceded that Team Rugby could have rowed better than those other schmoes. I just know I can talk them into it by next summer. And Corey, too.
Then, to cap off a lovely time, my bus was pulling up right as I walked to the curb! There was my 71A, sans crazy people, to speed me along home to my cookie pie. Just when I thought the day was the most wonderful of all fabulous Pittsburgh summer days, Corey gave me a present. He bought me a whole box of fortune cookies because he knows they're my favorite! I love that he bought me the cookies even though he doesn't support consuming partially hydrogenated oils.
Summer is awesome.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Vacation with Team FIL
Just got back from a vacation with Team Future In-Law. Future BIL lives in Portland, OR and we all converged there for a few days. The highlight of my trip was, of course, our visit to Powell's book store. What word lover wouldn't enjoy a four story, city block sized building brimming with books?
As we ran from the trolley car into the entrance and formed our game plan, meeting place, and bartered on the length of our visit, I realized I was born into the wrong family. My "birth" family doesn't really like to read very much. It makes me sad, like I have to look over both shoulders to make sure they aren't around and whisper "They aren't book people."
Two hours after team FIL entered the Mecca, we staggered out under the weight of our combined purchases, wondering if we were going to have to ship things home. We showed off our new titles, got excited for each other's new reading adventures. My current family would have dropped me off in the book store for the day and gone somewhere else, sending my little sister in later to excavate me to go get dinner.
This is not to say there isn't reading material in my native home. We have magazines and newspapers sprawled everywhere and every blue moon there's a book that gets my mom and little sister into the mood I'm in daily. But Corey's family is like Anne Fadiman's family. Each room of their house has tall built-in bookshelves and piles of books in various states of being read. We go out to eat together and scan the menu for typos. We have fiery discussions about books and then we all go away to our comfortable positions and read. It's wonderful.
If I can't have been born into book people, I guess it's a good thing I am marrying into them.
As we ran from the trolley car into the entrance and formed our game plan, meeting place, and bartered on the length of our visit, I realized I was born into the wrong family. My "birth" family doesn't really like to read very much. It makes me sad, like I have to look over both shoulders to make sure they aren't around and whisper "They aren't book people."
Two hours after team FIL entered the Mecca, we staggered out under the weight of our combined purchases, wondering if we were going to have to ship things home. We showed off our new titles, got excited for each other's new reading adventures. My current family would have dropped me off in the book store for the day and gone somewhere else, sending my little sister in later to excavate me to go get dinner.
This is not to say there isn't reading material in my native home. We have magazines and newspapers sprawled everywhere and every blue moon there's a book that gets my mom and little sister into the mood I'm in daily. But Corey's family is like Anne Fadiman's family. Each room of their house has tall built-in bookshelves and piles of books in various states of being read. We go out to eat together and scan the menu for typos. We have fiery discussions about books and then we all go away to our comfortable positions and read. It's wonderful.
If I can't have been born into book people, I guess it's a good thing I am marrying into them.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
TMI
It occurred to me recently that not everyone is bohemian. I was chatting to my boss at the magazine about the best route to take from Pittsburgh to New York City. We bantered about turnpike vs route 80 for awhile and I realized with horror that my biggest motivation for taking 28 to 80 was the money I save in tolls that way. There I was in a cubicle telling my boss the best way to save $30.
The day before, I had proudly shown the designer my contraband postage pile. When I was at my other job organizing file drawers for the 77 year old lady, I came across piles and piles and piles of old envelopes from journal authors with return postage on them. My eyes lit up and I thought hungrily of all the submissions I could send with these gratis envelopes and stamps.
These are people with careers being uncomfortably reminded that grad students live on like $5 a month. I'm not whining to them every about being poor. I chose to go to grad school. Instead, I like living up to the challenge of finding ways to save money. I think it's exciting that I can eat a gourmet meal for free every day in the student union building after conferences let out. I love going to boring films hosted by the film society because they hand out free wine. I guess I just need to find other grad students for my frugal sharing sessions and avoid these conversations when speaking to people with paychecks.
I still think I'm allowed to be excited and share that the best thing about our new car is the wonderful gas mileage it gets and that we can put in the low grade fuel. The gas guzzling Maxima is nothing compared to the sleek efficiency of our silver Mazda 3.
The day before, I had proudly shown the designer my contraband postage pile. When I was at my other job organizing file drawers for the 77 year old lady, I came across piles and piles and piles of old envelopes from journal authors with return postage on them. My eyes lit up and I thought hungrily of all the submissions I could send with these gratis envelopes and stamps.
These are people with careers being uncomfortably reminded that grad students live on like $5 a month. I'm not whining to them every about being poor. I chose to go to grad school. Instead, I like living up to the challenge of finding ways to save money. I think it's exciting that I can eat a gourmet meal for free every day in the student union building after conferences let out. I love going to boring films hosted by the film society because they hand out free wine. I guess I just need to find other grad students for my frugal sharing sessions and avoid these conversations when speaking to people with paychecks.
I still think I'm allowed to be excited and share that the best thing about our new car is the wonderful gas mileage it gets and that we can put in the low grade fuel. The gas guzzling Maxima is nothing compared to the sleek efficiency of our silver Mazda 3.
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